Border Run
by ComicBookStory
Summary: When the body of a murdered sailor disappears from a crime scene, the team finds themselves dragged into the midst of a violent drug war. At the same time, Kensi and Deeks struggle with their partnership.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS:LA.**

Chapter One

It was Monday morning, and so early that darkness was still wrapped around Los Angeles. There is, however, no rest for the weary, and at five-thirty a certain Marty Deeks was roused from sleep by a telephone jangling in his apartment.

In his haste to answer it, Deeks staggered across his bedroom floor and into the living room, tripping over a semi-damp wetsuit and some plastic flip-flops, then caught his knee on the dresser and fell, wincing, onto his couch. Maybe leasing a barely-three-room apartment hadn't been such a great idea, he thought, rubbing his knee.

_Next time I get a pay raise..._he vowed. "Deeks here."

"Get out of bed, Deeks." The voice belonged to Kensi Blye. Immediately Deeks sat up a little straighter.

"We have a case?"

"No, Deeks. I'm calling you at five-thirty in the morning to say hello."

"Okay. Case it is." He groaned out loud, peering into the cold darkness beyond the window. "Location?"

"Wilshire. Just off of the freeway. You should see the lights—Callen and Sam are already down there."

Deeks knew the lights that she spoke of. Flashing from the hoods of ambulances, fire trucks and squad cars, they alerted most cops and detectives to the exact location of a crime scene.

"Be there in ten."

"See you." Kensi sounded unusually grim this morning. "And hurry up, okay?"

"I am, I am." Deeks pulled on some jeans and a shirt, then reached for a jacket. "See? I'm already dressed."

"Great." Kensi sighed. "See you in ten."

She hung up, and Deeks grabbed his keys on the way out the door. In his haste, he forgot to lock his apartment door, and as the young agent rushed downstairs, the door creaked open a few inches. It would remain open all day, but Marty Deeks did not know or care.

He had a crime to solve.


	2. Chapter 2

**So...another fanfiction! I hope that you all enjoy reading it! Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS:LA. **

Chapter Two

Thirty minutes later, Deeks and Kensi stood side by side in a lonely, misty park beside the freeway. Early-morning traffic rushed past, the lights flickering over the trees. Sam and Callen were talking with a couple of tired-looking LAPD officers.

"The cops that the guy was sleeping until they saw the blood." Kensi glanced downward, toward the young petty officer. He was young and had been handsome in life: Rodrigo Hernandez, a non-descript man of twenty-eight years.

"What'd he get himself into?" Deeks squinted at the stab wounds that had bloodied the man's chest. He couldn't imagine such a boring-looking guy getting himself killed in such a brutal way.

"That's why the cops called us." Kensi pushed some stray locks of hair behind her ear, bending to examine the wounds. "We've been tracking this guy for a while. Guess they figured that it would be easier to hand the body over."

"Tracking him?"

"Someone's been running drugs out of Camp Pendleton. He's been keeping low since the investigation started. Nothing suspicious, but he's got ties with a drug cartel south of the border."

Deeks looked down at the innocent young face and felt a deep sadness for the young man. His fellow detectives at the LAPD often commiserated about the fight against the drug cartels, calling it the war that they would never win.

Now he understood more than ever.

By the time the sun rose fully over Los Angeles, Sam and Callen found themselves sitting in Sam's car, the heater turned on full blast. Sam tuned the radio to a popular rap station, and the bass beat filled the car.

"We should call Hetty." Callen muttered, watching the crime scene. A few yards away, the CSI unit was unpacking their tools. Soon, the body would be hauled away by the Coroner, and Sam and Callen would be left staring at an empty patch of dirt.

Callen reached for the door handle, jiggled it, and turned back to Sam. "Seriously? You locked us in the car?"

"I _always_ lock the doors. You never know who's going to jump into the car at a stoplight."

"I don't think there's much danger of that here." Callen gestured to the deserted street.

"Happened to a friend of mine." Sam said, as if that explained everything. "Besides, this is a nice car. It's practically new."

"Sure." Callen dialed Hetty, rolling his eyes in Sam's direction. "One of these days, man..."

Hetty did not answer, however, and Callen hung up disappointed. They sat in silence for a while, watching the distant crime scene. One of the CSIs had dropped a tool box. A trainee, Callen thought, watching one of the older CSIs shake a finger and gesture wildly to the dropped probes and evidence bags.

"Hey." Sam said suddenly, leaning forward. "Hey!"

He pointed to the window. Callen peered through and started—a pickup truck had careened around the corner and parked haphazardly beside the crime scene. Two figures leapt out, clearing the crime scene in a single jump, and raced toward the body.

"What the hell?" Sam unlocked the doors and stumbled out, Callen hot on his heels. "What the hell?"

"They're stealing our body! Hey! HEY!" Callen shouted, trying to re-live his days of high school track and field. "Stop! NCIS! Stop!"

Their shouts were to no avail; the two ski-masked figures had lifted the petty officer's body easily, hurled it into the back of the truck, and motioned wildly for the driver to, Callen would guess, drive like hell.

"Back to the car! We can chase them down!" Sam yelled, turning rather rapidly and dashing back toward the car. Callen tried the door and found it locked.

"Open the door! Open the door!"

"Damn it!" Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, searching frantically for his eyes. "They're getting away!"

"Hurry up!" Callen said loudly.

"You're not helping!" Sam returned, fishing the keys from his back pocket and unlocking the door. "Why the hell would someone steal a body?"

"Beats me." Callen muttered as they shot into reverse, then forward again. The two agents gave chase, but the masked men had a several block advantage, and Sam lost them somewhere near Wilshire.

"Good lord." Callen stared at the ever-flowing river of traffic on the freeway. A red pickup truck threaded its way through the cars; in the back, he knew, lay the stolen body. "What's this about?"

"Beats me." Sam said slowly. "Beats me."


End file.
